So I am having a rubbish week at work. Well, to be frank, most of my weeks at work are rubbish, but this one especially so. Bloody rubbish. Really bloody rubbish.

I won’t bore you with the specifics, it really isn’t worth it.

And I am also really bloody tired. I think I need some time off. I have not had the motivation to go to the gym since Sunday, I nearly went last night, but chickened out at the bus stop and bought a packet of Marlboro Lights instead. Bad move. Very bad move.

I have not bought a packet of cigarettes in weeks. This cannot be a good sign.

The tall actor is making up for my bad general bad mood by offering small periods of joy, but this is in itself proving to be a problem: I think I have properly fallen for him (lets not get ahead of ourselves here – I am talking about infatuation, not love), and at this point I do not know for certain what his feelings are for me. When we are together this is fine, I am just happy for him to be there – but when we are apart, which is most of the time, my already downtrodden mind starts churning things around. A text goes un-replied to for more than 15 minutes clearly means he is not at all interested and never wants to see me again.

I have to run to the disabled toilets for a quick game of solitaire on the iPhone to calm myself down.

And then I go back to the desk and get back to waiting for his response. Eventually it will arrive and I will be happy again, for another 15 minutes.

This is a problem I have at the beginning stages of most of the relationships I have ever been in. And is probably the main reason I am still single. I am way, way too needy. It manifests itself in a need for constant reassurance that I am wanted, that I am needed, that I am attractive and that I am better than all of the other options.

Yes, yes, I am quite insane.

Anyway, I am at this exact moment in time during one of these ‘waiting for a reply’ periods. I small flurry of text messages an hour or so ago culminated in me asking the tall actor out on a date tomorrow evening. Then the texts stop. My question is hanging in the air. And the first thing my head settles on is not “oh, he must be busy – he will reply when he has a chance,” no, it is instead “oh, he obviously doesn’t want to see me ever again and must wish I was dead/in France”.

I am going to go the gym after work and take it all out on my abs.